Winter Heart
by arctapus
Summary: This is a continuation of Fortunate Son and Son Rise.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Winter Heart  
Author: Arctapus

Codes: LOTR, E/L, R-ish maybe, m/m, **Continuation of Fortunate ****Son and Son Rise, this is a slash relationship continued.**

Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien created the universe that I dabble in.I make nothing from doing so but satisfaction at having such wonderful creatures and landscapes to work in. No copyright infringement is implied by the use of his universe. Summary: A glimpse into a relationship.

=0=

In the House of Elrond, in the Kingdom of Imladris ... winter ...

The snow was falling, each flake tiny and individual, falling and landing silently. They were collecting, casting a white blanket all around, a foreshadowing of the long sleep that was coming over the land. It was welcomed, this turning down of nature's blankest as the land desired a rest from the strenuous exertions of the past growing season.

The war with the orcs had gone well, the vanquishing of that blight from the body politic for another year or so assured. It was safe to ride over the Misty Mountains, safe to travel across the marches and plains of Middle-earth. It would be so for some time he considered, some time before the plague overtook them again and they had to amass once more.

Right now, it was enough to be in the doorway, standing in the pool of light that poured through it out into the night beyond. Elrond could hear the falling of water over the cliffs beyond, the eternal murmurings of Ulmo as the waterfalls made music to his ears. He had chosen this place for many reasons, not the least among them the sound of the water.

The Bruinen was his river. He could command it and he did. Ulmo had special attachment for him, this son of gifted parents, and Ulmo had never failed hear him when he called. Elrond knew that the great god of waters responded when he had to bar the ford. He had done it time and time again. That protection he never took for granted and his prayers were given to all who aided him in his burden of responsibility, ethereal and corporeal.

He smiled slightly, the distinction between the two ever more blurred for him. Time had erased some of the wonder from his heart and until a lovely presence came into his life of late, he had ceased to see the splendors around him for what they truly were. The waterfalls were soothing to his ears but he didn't see the beauty of the light on the spray. He didn't see the spectrum of the rainbow caught in the shower of droplets when the warm rays of the sun pierced them in the  
midmorning.

The birds had always sung and he listened sometimes. He heard them talking, taking their tales to Manwe as they had since the beginning of time. All things of the air, even the breeze itself was Manwe's and all the tales, both good and ill, made their way to him. Now he listened more, hearing their loveliness when before they had merely been another sound in the background.

Elrond sighed, exhaling into the cold evening air. He could see the white fog of his own breath hanging for a moment like gauze before dissipating away. It was cold and he tugged his robe around him, the soft silken texture soothing to his bare skin. He stepped one foot out, pressing down and then he withdrew it, noting the shape of his toes in the melted depression left behind. He smiled, rubbing his foot on the soft rug.

It wouldn't pay going out barefooted on a night like this. He turned and glanced back, noting the fire burning in the fireplace. It was warm and cozy, the only light in the rooms from the flames themselves and candles here and there. He turned and looked out again, the darkness on the other side of the canyon punctured with light here and there from homes of others who shared his valley.

He had stood here a million times before, looking out into the night. He had seen the same scenery before but it looked different now. It was more textured and more shadowed, more vivid and more beautiful to him. He didn't just look at things anymore, he saw them again. That pleasure, that awareness had come back into his life and Elrond reflected on the other man he once was, who had occupied his days without once living them.

That other Elrond was dedicated and decent, a hard-working fool who found little beyond the responsibilities of his station and the loveliness of his children to occupy him. Friends like Glorfindel and Erestor, men who took care of him almost with a maniacal dedication were precious to him and he didn't take them for granted. But they did nothing for the central core of loneliness that had filled him for too long.

That he had felt that way, an empty hollowness that was only marginally acute to him at the time as he worked and thought and made his way through his days was a preposterous thing now. It had not struck home to him how lonely his life was until a bright light entered it and illuminated all the dark corners he inhabited. Until Legolas had come to his home, he was a man without a clue.

Turning, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth, he stared at the door of his bathing chamber. He could hear sounds, water and the soft humming of someone he loved. It had been a long time since he had stood waiting for someone to come to him this way and memories of others came to him unbidden.

Long ago, almost in a time beyond time, he had loved another. A good man he was, too. Big and robust, the king of his people, Gil-galad had taken him into his confidence, then his heart and finally into his bed. They had a remarkable, scandalous relationship, a lusty and deeply personal friendship that had blossomed into love almost from the moment they first met each other. Gil-galad had been his mentor, his partner, his lord and his first deep and deeply passionate lover.

Their time was long and fulfilling but even as long as it was, it was too short. When Gil-galad had died, when Elrond had stood and watched him die, all that was good and warm and personal in him had perished too. He had stood rooted to the spot, unable to even cry to Iluvatar, so great was his shock and anguish. He knew, even at in that terrible moment, he would never love that completely and deeply again.

He wouldn't allow it.

Time passed, responsibilities and ambitions diverted him and he found his footing again. Imladris was his refuge and he was loath to leave it for nothing less than great cause. Going to Lothlorien, meeting with the greatest Elf lord still living among them, discussing trade and security and other matters of mutual concern had helped him forge a friendship with a unique person.

Celeborn was among the last of the great and powerful lords of past times left and most of the Elves of Middle-earth with few exceptions, acknowledged his will and his wisdom. He was the husband of Galadriel and the father of the great beauty, Celebrian and it was well into their friendship that Elrond noticed small and subtle movements on the part of his good friend toward moving him into a relationship with his golden-haired daughter.

Riding home after one visit, he brooded on what it would mean to take a wife. He had not done so in the manner of his people. That made him an anomaly, as it had Gil-galad, hence part of the 'scandal'. The taking of a spouse happened as soon after the fiftieth year of one's life as possible. He had not done that. The relationship with Gil-galad was not a secret one. Everyone knew about their ill-fated partnership. Celeborn knew it and so did Galadriel. He was sure that Celebrian knew it too. Everyone knew it even though no one talked about it, most notably himself. Some things were too hard to verbalize, he considered.

What it would mean to have her as a wife, he didn't know. Feelings of the nature of love, a love that would lead to marriage and children, they were hard to imagine emerging from his heart again. He had given it to his king and the idea of loving another was almost more than he could conjure.

But time has a funny way of playing with you, he considered, holding out his hand for a flake or two. They landed and melted immediately, the coolness of their landing almost like a prickling. He smiled and dropped his arm, looking up at the moon as it peeked through a break in the clouds.

/... Ithilas ... you look down at both the mighty and the small ... what tidings do you keep hidden away in the heart of you .../

The moon disappeared as the break in the clouds closed and he looked down at the snow again. The depression his foot made had filled in, leaving no trace of his passing. He thought about it, about the way a hole closes when you go away. Gil-galad had left him and the hole in his heart still existed. Celebrian had been a stop-gap, a venture into living in the light once more. He still felt her presence in the house and even more so, her absence.

They had been great good friends, people who did their duty and grew to a closeness born out of necessity and real affection. She had given him children, three lovely beautiful children. He could still remember looking at his boys for the first time and thinking of his mother. Was this what she felt when she saw Elros and himself for the first time? What great love and humility filled his father's heart? Was it like the emotions he felt now? He didn't know. The memories of his parents were so dim, they registered only as a warmth and a dim light in the darkness of his oldest thoughts. But he remembered feeling a connection to them at that moment that he would always love Celebrian for creating. Such things were extremely rare for him in his life.

They had raised wonderful children together and then it all came to an end, as it always did. Gil-galad ended and took the light with him. Celebrian had been hurt and he had been forced to let her go, to give up the one confidante that had been so loyal and kind to him. She had taken the warmth of the sun with her, leaving him with empty days and nights and grieving and embittered sons. Arwen had fled to the House of Celeborn, finding in the company of her grandparents  
something of her mother.

He himself hadn't gone for a long time when Celebrian had left, the sadness of loss overtaking his will. He had spent all his energy and his time with his sons, trying to help them cope with the strange and unexpected departure of their mother from their lives. He knew they would never find their way along that tortured path. They tried to assuage their pain with the black blood of those responsible but it was a momentary fix of a lingering illness.

He had long since given up in his attempts to talk them out of going on their foraging expeditions, hunting with a grim-faced and relentless will the tortured relations of a long-past age, killing them wherever they were found. He knew that it would only be short term, whatever consolation they found from it and so he made do with the small comforts he could extend to his boys.

They were a close family but each had their own hurts and interests. Each went their own way, delivering their duties for their people all the while pursuing their own path through the days that stretched out so emptily, devoid of the warmth of the sweet woman who had made their house into a home.

He remembered when he had returned, the strange emptiness of their home and it had taken a long time to accept that the footsteps in the doorway were not Celebrian but likely Glorfindel or someone else, someone who took it upon themselves to fill whatever part of her empty space that they could. And so it went, days passing into months and months into years. It had continued on until that summons to Lothlorien and the chance meeting with the golden son of the enemy of his house, Legolas of Mirkwood, youngest son of Thranduil and grandson of the late King of the Greenwood, Oropher.

Visions of handsome men came into his mind, the tall and elegant Oropher and the graceful and hard Thranduil. He could still remember the day when Oropher had led that charge, an ill-fated move that led to his horrible death and the end of too many good men. Thranduil had fallen on his father's body and wept unashamed. It was always clear to Elrond that he had loved his father even to distraction. Thranduil was proud to be Oropher's son, even as he himself was proud to be the son of Earendil. However Thranduil had a real person to love and emulate and try and please. Elrond had no one, his own father and mother passing into myth and legend even as the age they had dominated passed into the mists of time.

He had always felt a sadness when he was near to Oropher and Thranduil. Their closeness was heartfelt and he often would watch them as they talked, played games or sat together, always side-by-side, always comfortable and comforted by the nearness of the other. That would never be a memory he himself would have and so he made it a mission of his life to insure that his sons and daughters would have such for themselves.

They were his gold, his passion and his pride. He was the father of sons, a rare thing indeed and had a daughter for whom music was composed, such was the admiration of her by others. She was the Evenstar of their people and the greatest treasure of her father's heart if he allowed himself to quantify his children. He would not be parted from them no matter how battered he became in body and soul. Some day they would all board a swan ship and sail that elegant vessel to the shores of heaven. On that day, two people would hopefully be waiting and his heart would be complete.

So it was, for all the ages of his life, Elrond had waited, worked and dreamed. And then it all changed.

"Tell me about yourself, son of Thranduil," he had asked, smiling at the startled look on the youngster's pretty face. He had noticed Legolas' beauty at that moment, he realized now, the perfection of his features and the paleness of his skin. His eyes were very blue, very blue and guarded.

He had continued, probing gently against the walls Legolas had erected around himself. "I am pleased that books matter to you, young Legolas. Many young men are occupied by things other than learning. Ladies become important all too quickly to many." Elrond remembered now that he had almost held his breath. Then Legolas surprised him.

"Fair ladies are fine enough but I am not interested in them."

He had absorbed the words, watching as the boy rose and began to look around at the various curios that he had collected over a long and eventful life.

"That time will come in due course," Elrond remembered saying, his eyes never leaving the sturdy yet slender figure before him. He remembered how long Legolas' legs were and how broad his shoulders. Well muscled, he considered, strong and well made from a life spent working hard.

"Perhaps, but I think not," Legolas had said, turning and fixing that blue and direct gaze onto him once more.

Elrond sighed, remembering in the present what had been overmuch at the moment. He remembered the kernel of emotion that simple exchange had planted in him, a kernel that would germinate and produce a full flowering of emotion for the first time in too long. It would bear poison fruit, inciting strife and discord that would make him almost question whom he truly believed himself to be.

A sound caught his attention and he turned, noting a pale figure emerging from the bathing room. Wrapped in a robe, his hair unfettered and flowing over his shoulders, Legolas paused by the dressing table, picking up a brush. Without a hint of self-consciousness, he began to brush his long hair, the sweep of his hand reveling well muscled arms. When he was finished, he carefully put the silver brush down and turned, smiling as he saw Elrond standing in the doorway.

"It's snowing."

Elrond nodded and held out his hand, watching with appreciation as Legolas closed the distance between them. He opened his robe and Legolas stepped inside, loosening his own belt as he pressed his naked body against Elrond's. He watched with satisfaction as Elrond's eyes closed, a soft sigh of pleasure issuing from his lips. Bare skin against bare skin, snow flakes falling and the flickering light of the fire and candles gave counterpoint to the beating of his heart. He was at peace and he lay his head on Elrond's shoulder.

"You won't be able to leave the valley easily until the spring comes."

Legolas nodded slightly. "I know."

Strong arms surrounded him, hands drifted in lazy but comforting circles over his back. Elrond's touch was magical and he felt the tensions of the day falling away. He had ridden to the ford with Elladan and Elrohir, inspecting the river to see how much ice had built up. It would be a vulnerable point for them, the ice making fording much more easy if one went with care.

The ride was exhilarating, the company great fun and by the time they arrived back home, it was getting dark and they were all very cold. They entered the house, stomping off the snow that had fallen on them on their return ride. Dinner was served and they regaled the master of the House with tales of adventure and discovery, all greatly exaggerated of course. By the time they had retired, he was stiff and ready for bed. A long soak in Elrond's tub had been greatly appreciated.

"That feels good."

"I'm glad," Elrond said, kissing Legolas' temple. "It feels good to make you feel good."

Legolas snickered, looking into Elrond's gray eyes. "You are a quirky fellow. One wouldn't think there was that much humor in such a serious person. I am always no end surprised by you."

"I am your fool," Elrond said, pulling Legolas back into his arms. "You make me do things that would make a sane man weep."

"Are you claiming mental impairment, my Lord?" Legolas asked, sighing.

"Are you calling me 'Lord' again?"

Legolas chuckled and nodded. "I beg your pardon. I lapsed."

"One could be spanked for lapsing these days."

It was silent a moment and then blue eyes filled with love met his gaze once more. "I realized, my Lord Elrond, that I am not yet to my majority, but I believe I am well past the age of a good strapping."

"That depends on the strap." Elrond smiled and shook his head. "Here I am, speaking as if I know what I'm talking about."

"There are those who find pleasure in pain," Legolas replied, a story from his brother, Galdor, entering his mind unbidden.

"I don't feel that way. I could never hurt you. I could never strike you. I would never do that, Melme."

Legolas nodded, leaning forward. Their lips touched, softly brushing and then Legolas sighed. "I know."

They stood a moment, holding each other and then Elrond turned Legolas, directing him toward the bed. As Legolas climbed into the covers, Elrond banked the fire and put out all but two of the candles. His keen eyes spotted Legolas in the gloom, watching him expectantly and then he moved toward his side, shucking his robe without embarrassment.

Legolas watched him, his eyes taking in the firm flesh of his lover. Elrond was ancient among their kind still in Middle-earth but his body was that of a young man. He himself was more than aware of the strength in the arms and legs of his lord and when Elrond moved to cover him, he wrapped himself into that familiar warmth with gratitude.

Lips touched Legolas, his face and neck, his chest and his legs as hands gently stroked him here and there. Lifetimes of experience were given to him freely, experience with men and women, all of it Elrond's. Legolas absorbed it, returning equally the pleasure he was given and by the time they were spent, he was ready to sleep. Arms pulled him toward a firm chest and he burrowed in, wrapping his own legs around a body that cherished him. He sighed against a smooth chest and listened to the waterfalls outside, thoughts of his homeland coming to him once more.

=0=TBC

c2010


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2: Winter Heart

In a tent, near the Gap of Rohan ...

"What are you doing here, Legolas? I left you at home."

"I let him go."

They all turned toward the tall and tense woman standing near the door, all but nearly forgotten in the rage of the moment. Four turned, all male and stared into the anguished face of the Queen of Mirkwood.

"Mother ..." Legolas began and then halted, stilled by the simple raising of her hand.

"I want you all to listen to me."

For a moment it was quiet and then Thranduil swallowed hard, stifling his anger and surprise. "Very well."

She gathered her wits and shook her head. "I am so vexed, so deeply wounded, I am scattered in my thoughts. We are at war here with each other. That is not the family I envisioned for myself. You have all hurt me with your constant quarreling and I am calling for an end of it. If we cannot forge a solution for this problem that lies before us, I will go west."

For a moment it seemed ludicrous and Galdor almost snorted. Then it became clear that she was throwing down her own gauntlet. They were silent a moment and then the boys shifted uneasily, turning and glancing at their father. He was staring at his wife, his love and need for her evident on his face.

"You must never leave me," he whispered. "All my life, people have left me, people that I've loved. You must never ever leave me."

She stood her ground and then stepped forward, enveloping her husband in her arms. As they stood together, the three boys slipped out, moving into the sunlight in silence. They stood together and then Alanel grabbed Legolas' arm, half dragging him toward a secluded spot behind the tent. Galdor followed, looking at the two of them with a mingling of curiosity and rage. Legolas jerked his arm free and turned to face them, rage of his own illuminating his fine features.

"Don't ever do that again, Alanel," Legolas hissed, rubbing his arm. For the first time in his life, he wasn't hiding behind his shields, staring back impassively at the two people most responsible for his discomfort at home.

"Or what, Legolas? You'll tell *Mother*?" Alanel spat back, resting his hands on his hips. "Are you going to be the one who drives her away?"

Legolas swallowed hard, blinking as tears burned his eyes. Then he stepped forward and swung on Alanel, clipping him across the jaw with his fist. Caught by surprise, Alanel fell, landing hard on his side. Legolas, filled with stifled rage, turned and punched Galdor in the stomach, watching as he too fell down. As they both rebounded, Legolas turned, running for the nearby woods. Caught by the two of them, he would be pounded to a pulp. All he wanted to do was get away, away from them all.

The woods were slow going but he finally stopped, listening for anyone who might be following. Moving to a fallen log, he sat down and sighed, holding his head in his hands. He sat a long time, the light around him fading and when he rose, he rose resigned to his fate. His brothers would be getting their pound of flesh one way or the other but this time he would fight them back. He cleared the woods and headed toward his parent's tent, pausing by the flap for a moment. He peeked inside and saw them sitting, sipping wine from crystal goblets.

"Come in, Legolas," his mother said, watching as her lanky youngest child joined them. He sat on a camp stool and took the glass his father offered him. He stared at the liquid and finally sipped it.

"Your brothers bear bruises," his father said, gazing at his son with barely contained amusement.

Legolas flushed, his eyes fixed on the toe of his mother's small shoe. "I am not their punching bag anymore."

"They hunted you for a while but I have forbidden retaliation," Thranduil replied, smiling slightly. "They were very vexed but loath to go against their king."

"Thank you, Father," Legolas replied, well aware of the barely contained criticism in the words his father had spoken.

"Why is it, my son, that your brothers feel compelled to obey their king and you do not?"

Legolas sighed and glanced briefly at his mother, who sat regarding him with some amusement. He had no help there, her silence a way of getting him to talk, something she knew he wouldn't do without a bit of prompting. Silent treatment equaled success in her experience. At least with the sometimes gregarious but mostly taciturn boy who was her youngest.

"I do not intend to disobey you, Father. I respect and love you. I hope you noticed."

"I do. Sometimes." Thranduil sat back, watching the shades of emotion play over the handsome face of his son. All his sons were handsome but Legolas was the true beauty among them.

"I have a heart and it can not be commanded." Legolas paused. "I did not intend to lose it but lose it I did. I am not glad to hurt you or Mother but I am not ashamed of my feelings. They are as true and precious to me as your love and esteem. I cannot trade one for the other, so powerful and necessary are both to me."

"But if I say to you, my son, you must ... what say you?"

Anguish clouded Legolas' face for a moment, deep and agonized anguish and then he gathered himself once more, the mask of composure that was his usual expression falling into place. "I would not care to entertain that scenario."

"I entertain many every day that please me not, but I find in my position the need to decide. I am asking you to choose, even if hypothetically. Tell me what you would do about this conundrum."

Legolas sat a long time before sighing raggedly, his eyes riveted on the silver filagree of his mother's boot. He stared into his cup, his throat dry. "I would have to chose my heart."

It was silent a long time before Thranduil refilled his cup. Sipping it, he considered the wretched sight of his son sitting on the stool before him and the quiet, almost serene countenance of his wife. He took a long sip and slowly swallowed, the cool liquid warming a path to his stomach.

"It is the custom of our people to choose a spouse as close to our coming to majority as possible. Your mother was betrothed to me when we were children, so great was my love for her that I knew even then that she was the only woman I could ever love with a whole heart." He paused and sighed. "Elrond didn't do that. He didn't marry until he was quite older and there was the affair with the King of the Noldor that was unusual to say the least."

"What was unusual? Surely you don't believe that love is worthless given between men?" Legolas asked, staring evenly at his father.

Thranduil smiled softly. "The young can be lions sometimes. Elrond was once. He was the golden star of our people and the son of much honored people. But he was also tainted, his people. He had not been a part of it, a small child is a pawn in the machinations of their own times but he was of the kindred that caused much grief and harm to our peoples. We have all paid dearly for Noldor arrogance and  
superiority."

"You don't know him," Legolas replied quietly, staring once more into his cup. "He's the soul of kindness, someone who is warm and generous and good. He is a brave spirit, Father, and I wish you would bury your hatreds so that we can live in peace. We can never go forward if we can't bury the past."

"I cannot let it go," Thranduil said, his voice more sad than angry. "I loved my father. I loved him dearly. He is here," he said, placing his hand over his heart, "and I will never live another day without missing him."

"Elrond never knew his parents. He was orphaned by those circumstances you talked about. He never had a father to mourn."

Thranduil nodded, sighing. "We have seen terrible things, great losses, great defeats. We have fought the Long Defeat and even do so now. Some day we will have to leave this place, this home of our hearts. Someday we can go home to Valinor and be together with those that we love."

"I love him, Father. I want to be with him here. Now."

"And some day, when we leave, what then? What will you say when you step on the shores of heaven and other people are waiting there with the same need to be met?"

"You ask me to predict the future, a future that might never come. How long have we lived on these shores without the faintest desire to leave here? How do we know that we will ever leave here?"

"We don't," his mother gently replied. "Your father is yourcustodian. I am too. We do not take that responsibility lightly. We gave you to Elrond with the express wish that you would be safe, as cherished in his household as you are in our own."

"He does-" Legolas interjected, stilling at the raised hand of his mother.

"He broke his vow. That is not something to be taken lightly. He broke it, Legolas."

Legolas stared into his glass, his stomach sinking. "I wasn't a passive participant in this matter, Mother. I wanted him to love me. I dreamed of it and I pursued him. He would never have given in without my efforts to woo him to my heart."

"You speak of wooing like it was something you knew," Thranduil said, his voice soft in spite of his words. "This matter of the heart, its forever, Legolas. No one can turn their back on a binding. You will be bound to the one you choose until the end of Ea."

"I know," Legolas said, glancing one to the other.

"You are young. We do not doubt your sincerity. We do not belittle that which is evident in your eyes. But we want you to be safe and we don't want you hurt. You were, Legolas. You were hurt by Elrond and your reputation, his and ours as well, was sullied by this whole business."

"You dueled, Father. You fought for your honor and you both won it back."

"In the matter of chivalry," Thranduil agreed, nodding. "But in the arena of fatherhood, I am still highly vexed. Your innocence has been taken by a man who should have known better. I do not-" he paused and raised his hand, cutting Legolas off in his protest. "Do not interrupt your father and your king."

Legolas fell silent and nodded, embarrassment rising in his cheeks. "I apologize."

Thranduil sighed. "Your innocence ... your person ... it is not something that we take lightly. You are under-aged and a man senior by many years took something from you that belongs to whomever you betroth to. That part is missing from your life and cannot be retrieved."

"You would betroth me to someone I don't know. You would give me to a woman. I feel nothing in that regard for women."

"How do you know, Legolas?" his father asked, frowning with aggravation as he watched his son shift uneasily.

"I know," Legolas said, glancing at his mother. "I know as surely as you knew Mother was the one you needed for marriage and happiness. I am drawn to men and I cannot change." He looked at his father levelly. "I will not apologize for what I feel for it is genuine and not negotiable. I could no more change my desires than you could, Father."

Thranduil sighed and filled his glass again, topping his wife's cup as well. "I was afraid you would say that. Then if that is the case, there are other young men, *young* men, who might be suitable candidates for you."

"And if Grandfather had said there were other girls who were suitable candidates for you, what would you have done?"

Thranduil stared at his son for a long time before speaking. "What do you want, Legolas?"

"I want to be happy, Father. I want to love someone and be loved back to the same degree that you and Mother love. I don't want to be alone anymore. I don't want to be with someone I don't know and don't care about. I am not going to inherit the throne of Mirkwood. I am the third son of Thranduil, not the first. I want to have a chance to see if the one that I love is the only one for me. I want to do this without breaking your heart or losing you in the process." Legolas swallowed hard, glancing down at the toe of his mother's shoe. "I love you both so much."

Thranduil stared at him, the love he felt for his son gathering painfully in his throat. He swallowed wine, clearing his throat gently and sighed. "You are the youngest but you are the one who causes me grief of an intensity I have felt from few. I have lost more sleep over you, Legolas, than both your brothers combined."

Legolas didn't look up. He stared at the ground, his stomach churning with anxiety.

"I love you dearly and I'm proud of you. I work very hard to build a kingdom that will be a home to you and your brothers and a monument to our family. I know that I have not been the father you desired. I'm not wired that way. I could have been more loving ... more gentle I suppose."

Legolas glanced up at his father, alarmed at his grief and for a moment he felt ashamed that he was the cause of it. He touched Thranduil's knee with his hand. His father gripped his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"I don't claim to understand you but I beseech you to always remember that your Father loves you dearly."

"I always knew that, Father."

"I want you home with me and your mother but I know to achieve that, I must let you go."

Legolas stared at his father, surprise on his face. "Father?"

"I will let you go to Imladris and spend the winter in Elrond's home. I expect that whatever you find out about him and about yourself, you will discuss with your mother and I before you jump off the cliff from which there is no return."

Legolas stared at them dumbfounded and nodded. His mother smiled slightly, bemused even in her grief at the splendid humanity of her youngest son.

"You will come to us in the spring and we will discuss this once more. You must not take any steps until you speak to us, if that is the way your heart is to go. I will not ask it of Elrond. I am done with his promises to protect you from harm."

Legolas watched his mother as she placed her hand on his father's arm, calming him with a gentle touch. It was evident that his father's opinion hadn't changed but he loved his son and was making a sacrifice, knowing full well that it would be a risk of forever losing him to the enemy of his house.

Legolas nodded, swallowing hard. He felt intense joy tempered with a profound love of his parents and he listened carefully as he heard them tell him that he would be coming home for a short while before leaving for Imladris. He nodded and when it was over, he rose, a smile on his face. He leaned down and kissed them both, pausing by the door as he turned to face them again.

"I love you," he said simply.

His father nodded, his eyes clouded with emotion. "We know that, Legolas."

Legolas hesitated and then turned, leaving them to go to his own quarters. Thranduil let out a long held breath, shaking his head. His wife smiled and squeezed his arm.

"You are almost as great a king as you are an Elf. I was never prouder of you, my dear husband, than I was just now."

"It was as you said," Thranduil said quietly, threading his fingers through hers. "I love my son more than I hate Elrond."

She smiled and nodded. "Spring will come soon enough."

"That is what I am afraid of," he said quietly.

**********In a quiet place ...

Legolas sighed and traced the line of Elrond's collar bone.

"You cannot sleep?" Elrond asked, the sensation of Legolas' fingers soothing against his skin.

"I am luxuriating, my Lord. I am relaxing my body after your possession."

Elrond smiled, kissing Legolas' forehead. "There is that lord business again."

"Your inherent nobility overwhelms me," Legolas said, tracing the circle of a dark nipple with his thumb. "I want to explore your chest."

"You may," Elrond said, smiling. "Far be it for me to slow down inquiry."

"It's a noble business, science," Legolas said, grinning.

"Ah," Elrond said. "That explains your formality."

Legolas chuckled and propped himself up on an elbow. "I do love you."

"It makes it all bearable knowing that," Elrond said, brushing a stray lock of golden hair from Legolas' face. The youngster leaned down and dropped a soft kiss against Elrond's lips. Elrond sighed and smiled. "You must never go."

"Not before the spring is come," Legolas whispered. "Not before the winter is gone." He leaned down again, their lips meeting with passion. He sighed against Elrond's mouth, rubbing the tip of his nose against his lover's. "Winter hearts?"

"Yes," Elrond replied, pulling Legolas down against his body. "Winter hearts."

It was silent in the room as they lay entwined together, the snow falling silently beyond the window. Tomorrow would be slow coming, the solitude and silence of the night their long companion.

Far away in another place, a man stood on a balcony, staring up into the falling snow. The cold flakes landed on his face, melting immediately and he stood letting them fall for a long time. He had many thoughts on his mind, the most immediate a son far away. He thought about him this night, this cold winter night and sighed.

"Lady, protect my wayward boy on this dark night. Bring him home to me when the snow turns away. Keep him safe, I pray."

He stood a moment, thinking about his beloved father and then he turned, walking inside to his warm fire and his loving wife once more.

All was quiet in the Great Wood that night, as it was in the Great Valley far away.

******************Finis ... June 26 c2002******************


End file.
